


summer sun kinda lovin'

by Ladyboo



Series: for the sea no longer torments me [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys In Love, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, F/M, M/M, Trans Character, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyboo/pseuds/Ladyboo
Summary: “No. Braid my hair, please.”Her eyes a little wide, her face purposefully soft, he knew that expression and Dean huffed, pressed his mouth to her forehead before tipping her back forward. Sam stretched her slim legs, toes curling against the grain of the porch wood. She stared out into the trees though, where the world dipped off and their porch stood supported on stilts above the wooded hillside and Dean pressed another kiss to the top of her head before settling in his chair once more.





	summer sun kinda lovin'

**Author's Note:**

> I got good reception, so thank you! And new pieces wont always be this quick, I just had a mo and the muse for it, so! Tada!

The back porch ceiling fans did their best to keep up but the afternoon was hot, seven pm upon them with no sign of the air cooling down. Ninety-seven out, Georgia humidity thick enough he could taste it, such heat he could see it in the air where it wavered and Dean thought he was going to sweat out of his skin. He was liable to peel out of it, but it felt better here than it had at the garage, cooler here than it had been under lifted automobiles while he tore apart engines with his bare hands, he couldn’t feel the swelter of it threaten to boil his lungs. 

He’d stripped out of his clothes as soon as he’d walked in the door, had barely crushed a kiss against Sam’s mouth for all that he’d kept his dirty, gritty hands to himself. Sam had called a greeting after him, but Dean had torn off, had stomped down the hall to the sound of his little sister grumbling with the sort of petulance only nearly fifteen year olds could manage. The shower hadn’t helped, not really, too hot for all that he had run the water as cold as he could, he had felt sticky nearly the moment he had stepped out from under the spray. But he had been clean, and clean was a place to start, clean was something at least. 

He could touch Sam when he was clean. 

There was shade here at least, the sun had shifted and the back porch faced east into the trees, gave them privacy where they weren’t necessarily used to having any. John had dropped them here just over a month ago, last check with Bobby had placed him just in Oklahoma and Dean was in no rush to get the man back. Not when Sam leaned back against him like that, not when Sam looked up at him with mascara dark lashes and blinked at him, asked Dean to braid her hair for her. 

How was he supposed to say no to something like that?

Sam was warm against his legs, familiar heat from her shoulders pressed to the insides of his knees and Dean had spent a few moments just scratching his blunt nails against her scalp. Felt the way she sagged against him, felt the way her arms had wrapped loose around his calves, his ankles and how her delicate little hands had begun to tap a rhythm out against his skin. Soft skin, soft hair, she had found a bottle of women's shampoo in the bathroom closet and it seemed she had taken to using it because her hair smelled floral and sweet, slipped through his fingers without nary a snare. 

She’d brought the boombox with her, the same one she’d picked up at a garage sale in Maine that took too many D cell batteries. She’d put it on the porch in front of them near the support beam, had shoved a cd into it that he didn’t recognize, some group called the Spice Girls with the quiet, confident claim that she wanted to be like Baby Spice one day, as if he knew who that was. And then she’d settled between his legs and given him the tiny container of little elastics they’d gotten six states back when they ran out. 

“French braids?”

His fingers stopped scrubbing as her head moved, as she tipped back to blink up at him with a little purse to her mouth. Almost judgemental, just teasing enough and Sam watched him with fox sharp eyes, slitted and hazel bright. 

“ _ Can _ you? I distinctly remember somebody saying fuck it la-”

Her words were muffled then and her jaw was sharp in his palms, her throat slender where his fingers curled. He tipped her head back further between his legs even as he bent forward, even as he held her in his hands with his thumbs against the hollows just below her cheekbones. Their mouths pressed together like this in an almost harsh curl of a kiss, he held her with fingers pressing just so on her throat and Sam arched up into him. Her short nails dug into the thin skin at his ankles and that was a little hint of a moan on her breath, that was a her pressing up into his kiss as best she could. He nipped his teeth across the wide puff of her lips as he pulled away, watched her blink up at him with a faint glaze to her pretty, pretty fox eyes. 

“Watch yourself, Sammy. You think I won’t spank you?”

She squirmed then, her sun golden thighs clenched together and her nails scored across his ankles and up his calves. She had dressed in one of her favorites, the cute dress with the brown skirt that danced around her thighs and the cream bodice dotted with sunflower blossoms. It gave him a hell of a view from this angle, her legs long and her tits pressed up from how she had arched into him, and Sam blinked at him. She pursed her kiss reddened lips and watched him with her fox eyes, soft thighs pressed together tight. 

“No. Braid my hair, please.”

Her eyes a little wide, her face purposefully soft, he knew that expression and Dean huffed, pressed his mouth to her forehead before tipping her back forward. Sam stretched her slim legs, toes curling against the grain of the porch wood. She stared out into the trees though, where the world dipped off and their porch stood supported on stilts above the wooded hillside and Dean pressed another kiss to the top of her head before settling in his chair once more. 

The near silence was companionable, was comfortable, filled with the sounds of the woods around them and the too poppy singing of women that he didn’t know. Their voice grated a bit, too much sugar in their sound and he would have said something, except he recognized that faint vibration against his knees as her humming. Because Sam knew this music, Sam  _ liked _ this music, and Dean held his tongue with a smile instead because she was loose here, she was relaxed and fuck, but he wanted to keep her that way as long as he could. 

Her hair had grown just long enough that it tried to curl around his fingers, and it took a bit of work but he got a braid started near the front of her head, close to her temple. A little further over than he had wanted but he doubted she would complain, he pressed his teeth into his own tongue and squinted a bit as he focused on not pulling her hair, on keeping the braid straight, on weaving in the right amount of hair. His fingers were a little too wide for this, blunt tipped and her hair was silken and short but he managed as best he could. 

It took time, he nearly lost a chunk when he needed to scratch his cheek and Sam giggled at him for all that she had tipped her head forward, for all that she wouldn’t have known his blunder had he not cursed. 

The elastic was tight around his fingers, dug in a bit against the knuckles where he stretched it between his thumb and forefinger but he secured it easy on the tiny little tail of her hair. Fingers on her head then, he tipped her face back once more until he could see the upturn of her nose, the fan of her lashes where she blinked. He wanted to kiss her and her pretty, quietly singing mouth but he took the rest of her hair instead and eased into the same weaving pattern. 

He had to angle wide, had to try and match the way he’d started the other one at her temple, didn’t want her hair to be lopsided. And Sam was patient, happy to sit in the shade and listen to her music, and Helen, Georgia was nothing if not sleepy, if not small and it was nice to not have neighbors, nice to not share walls with various peoples like the had at the hotel in Florida for five weeks. Weird buildings and nice enough people, he was loath for when they would finally have to leave. 

But he had time, they had time, and she could be like this, sunlight soft and warm, pliant beneath his hands. 

“Hey Dean?”

He nearly got his finger tangled, but he pulled it from her temple right, he got the braid started like he wanted. Sam tipped her head for him, made it easy for him to work like he needed to and he spoke around the elastic clamped between his teeth. 

“I don’t got any dinner plans yet Sammy, too hot to be hungry.”

A quiet laugh, he could feel it in her shoulders and Sam leaned a little heavier against him, pressed her skin to his and caused a new line of sweat to unfurl along the inside of his knee. He wanted to bite at her shoulder and throat but it was to miserable for that, and instead he kept himself busy with her hair, curling the braid around the line of her skull and snapping the elastic in it. 

“No, that’s not...why does John hate me?”

He was happy his hands were free, happy he didn’t still have a grip on her hair because he felt like he’d been struck then. She always knew just what to ask, always had impeccable timing for things that he didn’t want to talk about. Gifted like that, maybe cursed, Sammy was meant for great things even if it would be the death of him.

“Sam no, no baby, he doesn’t hate you.”

A lie through his teeth and she knew it, she caught him quick even with her back to him. 

“Yes he does, Dean.” No tension in her slim shoulders, no pressure from where her little hands clasped about his ankles still, there was something final about her voice. He didn’t like it, didn’t want to hear it, the conversational resignation in her words like this was something she’d known for a while. Like he couldn’t change her mind, like he couldn’t make it better. “Sometimes I think he always has and I’m not sure I can fix it. Sometimes I think I hate him too.”

He bent forward then, he wrapped his arms around her then, he couldn’t take the finality in her tone and how calm she sounded about something that rattled him to the core. A squeal as he pulled her up, bare feet kicking in the air as he dragged her into his lap, as he twisted her around so she sat on his legs with her slender legs on either side of his thighs and he could wrap her up close. Her hands braced on his bare shoulders and her eyes were wide, a pretty little thing pressed against him.

A pretty, tragic little thing he wanted to keep in his heart for as long as she would let him.

“Sammy,  _ baby _ , why do you think that?”

Except, he knew exactly why she thought that. 

The drinking, the yelling, the training, the abandonment, she must have seen the way John looked at her, the way he said her name. Or perhaps he hadn’t been as good at hiding it from her as he had first hoped, maybe Dean hadn’t done as well as he had tried. And oh, but he had tried, had tried to keep her out of hunting, had tried to keep her safe. But John had insisted she start hunting last year, had slammed his fist and stated she was old enough. 

Except she wasn’t, except they weren’t, Dean would never be old enough to deal with not being fast enough, with getting hit over the head and coming to only to have to find his baby cornered and held up by her throat, blood on her sewer dank, pallid skin and fear in her eyes, he couldn’t deal with this sort of thing. He was going to die by the time he was twenty five, was going to have a heart attack and come right out of his skin and then Sam said that sort of shit and he fell back down the rabbit hole all over again. He couldn’t protect her forever, he couldn’t hold her forever but damn it, Dean wanted to try. 

“Samm-”

“No son of mine isn’t going to know how to handle a gun. Your brother can handle it Samuel, get up. Shoot the fucking gun, Sam. Don’t make me hit you, boy. Do you want to die, Samuel, because you’re going to die if you don’t fucking listen to me. Soldier up, Samuel.  _ Man up, Samuel _ .”

“Sam!”

Her nails dug into him, short as they were and unpainted and there was something fever bright in her eyes that he didn’t recognize, a desperation there than he had hoped to never have to see. Because she looked too old then, she was too young to be that haunted, she was too skinny and small to be that anxious about something. She was going to make herself cry, he knew how she dealt with things, she was going to get herself so worked up she was sick, but how was he supposed to lie to her?

_ “He hates me, Dean!” _

Her voice was shrill and he caught her face in his hands then, sharp jaw and a lack of bruises under her eyes than meant she was finally, finally getting enough sleep for once. Her skin was warm and yet her bones here stiff, there was a coiling tension there for all that she hadn’t yet grown and Dean wanted to wrap her up and keep her as safe as she would let him. 

But things were changing, and Sam didn’t need him to keep her safe when she could do it herself. 

“Sammy, Sam,  _ Sam _ !”

She didn’t listen, not really, fought against him with a sharp kind of wriggling to try and get away from him and he was going to get a knee in his ribs if he wasn’t careful. He couldn’t quite hold her properly like this, not when her motions made the chair rock like it had been designed to and he swore under his breath, he wrapped an arm behind her and surged to his feet. Instinct made her cling, up off the ground and moving fast and she grabbed at his shoulders where she had just fought him, Dean got a hand under her ass and held her with it until he could pin her in place. 

Until he could trap her between himself and the porch support with her thighs spread wide around his hips and her ankles locked low against his back. 

Her eyes were wild and just a little wet, her body hot against his but he didnt care, Dean kept her harsh against him until she had to watch him, until she had nowhere to go. 

“He hates me too Sam, and it’s okay.”

A sharp inhale like he’d struck her and she touched the back of his head then, his throat and Dean sighed, leaned into her touch. 

“He  _ shouldn’t _ .”

“He hates everything, Sammy. Part of him fucking died in that fire and we’re stuck with what’s left, and we gada live with that till he dies out there.”

A low, warbling sound like he’d hurt her and he took the hand at her back and instead cradled the side of her face, felt the way her mouth trembled with his thumb. He hadn’t meant to make her cry, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, but she hadn’t talked to him, she hadn’t tried to talk at all before this. Sam was too pretty to cry, but she was beautiful when she did. 

“But it’s okay, because I  _ love _ you, I don’t need anybody else when I have you.”

A soft sob then and her eyes were dripping, lashes wet mascara sticky but she smiled. But she pulled him close and smeared their mouths together until he could taste her tears and the way she’d worn one of her pretty, pretty glosses earlier. Her locked ankles squeezed him a little closer and he soothed a hand along her thigh as best he could. 

“I love you too, s-so much!”

Her mouth tasted like him, tasted like his kisses and his heart and Dean pulled her as close as he could, took her weight while he still could. 

“I know you do baby girl, fuck, I know.”


End file.
